Deeply Knotted Ribbons
by GF-221b
Summary: One-shots centered around France and his England. From the deepest moment they shared in their history to the modern world and its angst, these two will always be tangled in each other's lives. France x England
1. Angels and Knights

**NAME**: Angels and Knights

**RATING**: IDK, Light R?

**WARNINGS**: Angst, Pre-smut, rape, abuse, shota. Oh, and France as an UKE. Can ya handle all that?

**CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS**: England/France ;; hinted Axis Powers Threesome (Germany/Veneciano/Japan) ;; Germany -- France, England -- Japan, France -- Veneciano

**SUMMARY**: England and France reflect about their relations with the Axis Powers and find that they can never turn back the clock.

~*~

Romano was afraid of him. He wondered if Spain had distilled the idea that France would hurt him in his mind so very long ago. France wouldn't do that. Romano tried with his life to protect Veneciano. France's Veneciano. The little Italian would've been his if Austria hadn't taken him first. Taken him in a light sense. Austria was too nice to do any real damage to the young country's sexuality.

But would France have done it? No. No. No. _Non_. Veneciano was too precious for _any_ nation to take without the younger one's hapless consent. And he seemed to be giving his hapless consent to either Germany or Japan. Not that France hadn't done the same thing when he… fell. Now that he was under Axis control… well, the Allies were doing their best to free him, but it was taking them long enough.

There was a knock on France's door. He opened it slowly and found one Arthur Kirkland on his porch. He looked around warily, "Come in, Arthur, before one of Germany's men see you…"

"I… I thought you would be and Germany's house…" England asked as the frog closed the door.

"You would. The Axis are having a meeting, and they didn't want me around. So they dropped me under house arrest for the rest of the day," Francis explained, "How did you get here?"

"Alfred choppered me in. Are unhappy to see me?" England asked.

Francis chuckled, "You're such a drama queen, Arthur. Of course I'm happy to see you. Germany only used me once for pleasure, and then he dropped me as if I was a whore on the streets of Paris…" he confessed, getting closer to the British man.

Arthur didn't make a joke of that. He simply listened. "I miss you."

"I know."

"I'll never forgive Germany for what he did to you."

"I'll never forgive him for what he's doing to _you_," Francis retorted, tracing the outline of several scars on Arthur's person. He made sure to only touch the scars he could see on Arthur's face, neck, and wrists. England turned away for a brief minute before he went up on tiptoe and kissed Francis. Francis shrunk back from it. "Should I have _taken_ Italy?"

England blinked, "What?"

"Should _I_ have been the one to break Veneciano?" Francis asked.

England was taken aback, "Are you… jealous of Germany?"

"If… If he was mine… then this war might not have happened this way. I miss him, Arthur…" Francis replied.

Arthur sighed, "If you're asking this, then answer my question first. Should I have broken Kiku?"

Francis's heart jumped, "You're still hung up on him?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing.

England smirked, "You see my dilemma in answering your question, then?"

Francis stepped back, gulping lightly. England was right. Damn. _Merde_. Why was Eyebrows _always_ right? "Fine."

England laughed, "Francis. Who is the drama queen now, you bloody frog?" he asked, stepping closer to the Frenchmen.

Francis kept backing up. England kept advancing. Francis ran out of room between him and the couch and immediately fell upon it. England put his leg in between Francis's and climbed onto the couch on top of him, placing on hand on the back of the couch in between Francis's arm and his side. The other hand he placed neatly on France's side.

"I didn't come here to reminisce about what didn't happen. Nor did I come to play games, Francis," Arthur hissed into his ears. His intensity sent shivers down the Frenchman's spine.

"A-Arthur…" Francis whined.

Arthur simply grinned and began kissing his neck.

"A-Arthur!" Francis hissed.

"If you're worried about Germany, he's all the way at Japan's… he'll be back tomorrow afternoon," England said.

Of course. He and America had been spying on the Axis for who knows how long now. Francis had forgotten.

"This… isn't the reunion I had in mind…" Francis stated.

England stared at him, eyes green and mischievous in the afternoon light. "You? Not thinking about sex for one minute out of the day?"

"You know nothing about romance, Arthur…" Francis teased.

He shouldn't have been talking, with Arthur over him, smirking that incredibly gorgeous smirk of his. "And how would you _like_ this reunion to go, Francis?"

Francis thought for a moment. "Comfort me. Or I'll comfort you. Or we'll…" he trailed off as first Arthur sighed, cutting him off, and then as the Brit put first one arm around him, and then the other, kissing the Frenchman's forehead lightly. Francis in turn put his arms around the Brit's waist, quite liking the Englishman's warmth.

"You've been through a lot. What with Germany taking over and the Allies not able to do much about it. Now with these thoughts about Feliciano…" England mused. He stopped short, not knowing what to say next.

"And you? Germany's been hitting you pretty hard?" Francis asked.

England gave him a pensive look, "Yes."

"I'm sorry."

England kiss him on the side of the lips, "Don't be. It was inevitable that Germany's armies would capture you."

Francis leaned up and kissed England on the mouth. England smirked into it and deepened the kiss ever-so-slightly, his hands snaking down to Francis's belt buckle. Francis gasped out of the kiss and looked into England's eyes. "Be gentle, Arthur…"

England gave him three gentle, quick kisses on the mouth before replying, "This is not Germany's victory. This is England's loss…" he said, and the belt was unbuckled swiftly and the pants unbuttoned in record time.

A few minutes later, a naked Francis shivered against a pretty-close-to-nude Arthur, looking up into those pretty green eyes, "Arthur. _Qu'est-ce que tu es?_"

"_Je suis… Je suis ton chevalier…_"

"_Ah~ Non! Tu es… tu es mon ange…_" Francis replied, kissing him.

Arthur smiled into the kiss before moving his hands down Francis back. Whatever he was, he knew this _reunion_ was going well.

~*~

Translations:

_Qu'est-ce que tu es_? – "What are you?"

_Je suis… je suis ton chevalier._ – "I am… I am your knight."

_Ah~ Non! Tu es… tu es mon ange…_ -- Here Francis is playing with his words. This could mean either "Ah! No! You are my sweetheart." or "Ah! No! You are my angel."

~*~

_Luuuud... I think I should have written _Chanson d'Hiver_ instead of this. But Uke!Francis and Loving!Arthur would not let go of my creative energy, and thus this was written._

_I hope your happy, pmpatg. This is your fault. So you get this dedicated to you for it. **Comments are muchly appreciated.**  
_

_Adieu~_

_~Ana-chan~  
_


	2. My Beautiful Nightmare

**NAME**: My Beautiful Nightmare

**RATING**: PG-13

**WARNINGS**: Angst, Iggy's mouth

**CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS**: England/France ;; France -- Jeanne

**SUMMARY**: After a stunning defeat, France can't help but look back and wonder what the hell happened. Then someone unexpected comes to apologize…

~*~

She was gone. But they had won a war against his most deadly adversary yet. Arthur… when did his little friend grow up to become so _destructive_? His little Arthur was given those lands north of Francis's house by right of family ties. And now France and his people had had to run him out. And what did it cost? Arthur wouldn't speak to him, and Jeanne she… she was gone.

France fell forward on the bed once more, having thought about maybe going downstairs to make a cup of tea and maybe tend the new blooming roses that were turning up in his garden. But his heart was too broken; there had been too many losses for this war to be a good victory for the Frenchman. He had lost a hope and a friend almost in one single blow.

He was just about to close his eyes and gently die (if Nations could do that, which France doubted), when there was a light knock on his bedroom door. Now that was odd… France hadn't let anyone in his house since England had lived with him. The only person who had an extra key was…

France blanched, "I thought I had kicked you out, Arthur…" he said, pushing himself up and glaring at the aforementioned Englishman.

There was a look in Arthur's eyes that made Francis's eyes soften, however. It was as if Arthur was a child again and Francis had to comfort the usually brave-hearted child.

But as soon as Francis moved to hug the male in front of him, Arthur moved away, as if he had been telling himself to do something, and now that he was there, in front of Francis, he just couldn't do it. It had been two years since the war ended… what could Arthur have to say to him?

"What's wrong, Arthur…" Francis asked.

Arthur told himself he would not cry, nor would he beg. Instead, he turned back to Francis and balled his fists into two balls at his side. "I want to apologize…" he said quickly, and turned to go.

Arthur's words hit Francis harder then any of his cannons had back in the war. "Is this how your boss is conducting his business then? Sending _you_ here?" he asked, "If he wants forgiveness, tell him to come here and face my king like a man!"

England stopped dead in his tracks, "You bloody bastard…" he hissed, one hand on the doorknob to France's bedroom, and the other still balled up and twitching slightly. "I didn't come because of him!" he yelled, turning around and facing Francis once more.

France blinked, turning his blue eyes from the intense green stare he was receiving from the young Nation. "Then…"

"I came here for _me_! And for _you_! _I'm _sorry. _I_ screwed up and _I_ feel bad! Shit, Francis!" England cried, nearly hitting the wall beside him. Francis's eyes widened and he went to the other, lightly putting his hands on the trembling form as finally tears ran down England's cheeks.

Francis, too, was crying now. England had come all the way down from London to apologize, and now he was nearly resorted to a trembling mess in his arms. England threw his arms around the other's waist as he cried into Francis's bare chest. It had certainly been a while since the green-eyed Nation had done something like this. Damn France.

"I… I had a nightmare last night. You were there, but you wouldn't talk to me. You ignored me and I woke up _missing_ you, you damn bastard!" England suddenly yelled, pushing away from France and looking into his eyes, his rather large eyebrows furrowed.

Francis really couldn't help himself: he leaned down and kissed England's lips softly. England was at first slightly surprised, but as Francis parted from him, he found himself kissing the Frenchman with a little more fierceness than the first kiss between the two earlier. He pulled away and looked off to the side. "Bastard…"

Francis crooked his head to the side and pulled England to the bed, sitting down with the Englishman on his lap. England couldn't help but blush more as he saw the predicament, but France really meant no harm by the action. "Somehow that seems like a beautiful nightmare of yours…"

"You could say that…" Arthur replied.

"Well… I could never ignore you, Arthur…" Francis replied, smiling and kissing his little friend's forehead.

The action only made the green-eyed male bush more, especially when Francis kissed the tears from his eyes. "D-Dammit, Francis!"

"Shh…" Francis replied, and pressed the other close to him as he began to sing, showing the other that he shouldn't be having nightmares about a dreaded silence between them:

_Lullaby, and good night,_

_With pink roses bedight,_

_With lilies overspread,_

_Is my baby's sweet head._

_Lay you down now, and rest,_

_May your slumber be blessed._

_Lay you down now, and rest,_

_May thy slumber be blessed._

_Lullaby, and good night,_

_You are your mother's delight,_

_Shining angels beside_

_My darling abide._

_Soft and warm is your bed,_

_Close your eyes and rest your head…_

France kept singing, but he glanced down at his guest, who was breathing evenly, intense green eyes closed in sleep. Hopefully his dreams would be sweet this time…

~*~

_Yeah, yeah, yeah... but you can hush. I've had a bad case of writer's block, and finally I do this 'Free Write' and this is what happened._

_And I liked it. Hope you do as well._

_Adieu!  
_


	3. The Unicorns' Song

**NAME**: The Unicorns' Song

**RATING**: PG

**WARNINGS**: 11 pages in Word… also: contains copious amounts of FrUK fluff, winged unicorns, France being France, sexual innuendo, and sap, sap, bloody sap!

**CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS**: England/France ;; flying unicorn!OC ;; others

**SUMMARY**: France makes a new friend just in time for his anniversary with England! No, this isn't a rip-off of _How To Train Your Dragon_ from Dreamworks… not completely, at least. Dedicated to _my_ England: pmpatg; love ya, cherie!

_What am I going to do?_ France asked himself for the thirty-first time that month. It was only a week before his 108th anniversary with his _cherie Angleterre_, and he had nothing in his head that was _special_ enough for him. Not that England would really care, but every day, England seemed to get a little more close to Francis, and it was all the Frenchman could do but scream in his head about how much he wanted to make the green-eyed Nation happy. So… what to do?

France found himself on his favorite piece of land, almost to the foothills of the Alps that separated his land from Northern Italy's and paused. He had walked far from his house near Mont Blanc, and it surprised him. France gazed out at the hills and valleys of the Alps and sighed, sitting where he stood to rest and think. _What am I going to do?_ He asked himself again.

He suddenly heard a shrill noise much like a hurt horse. He stood up, looking in the direction he had heard the noise. _A wild horse? Or a domestic one that's lost?_ France thought, and began running for it. The noise, I mean. He was curious.

He followed the sounds as they got louder and louder, and, finally, made it to a clearing in the woods, just before the snow got thicker, and France was no longer in France anymore. What he saw made him blink a couple times:

There in the clearing was a giant horse… well… a normal-sized horse, but he—er—_she_ looked a little bigger because of giant white wings protruding from her celestial white black… oh, and the twisting, also white, horn from her head.

"I think I'm having one of Arthur's hallucinations," Francis whispered, ducking behind a rock and staring out the way he came, blue eyes wide. He closed his eyes tightly before opening them and checking the clearing. The horse… unicorn… Pegasus… _thing_ was still there. And thrashing a lot. Taking a closer look (he might as well run with his temporary insanity), he saw that the poor thing was caught in a thorn bush. Francis felt a pang of worry for the creature and stood up, dusting himself off quickly before running up to her.

"_Oh la la, ma chère pouline_… you've gotten yourself into a fine mess here…" he whispered, trying to calm the winged unicorn so he could help her.

She seemed quite frightened of any human, and she thrashed around more so she could get freed faster to run. She whinnied loudly in Francis's ear, and he was temporarily deaf for only a moment.

"_Chut! Chut, ma chère fille!_ I'm not going to hurt you!" Francis hissed, trying to touch the celestial horse. "I'm going to _help_ you!"

The winged creature seemed to hear this last part and stopped thrashing, still breathing deeply in case Francis was tricking her. Smart horse, but Francis wouldn't hurt a fly. As soon as he saw that the horse had stopped moving so wildly, he reached under her stomach and found the culprit: her right foot had gotten caught in a circlet of thorns. He slowly wrenched her hoof away from the thorns. Her ankle seemed a little scratched up, and as she tried to run, she twisted her ankle in pain and whinnied, having only gotten ten yards from the Frenchmen.

Francis ran to her and she huffed, as if asking, 'This guy again?'

Francis checked her over and shook his head, "You're not going anywhere for a while, _ma chère fille_," he said, sighing lightly. He tore off a bit of his shirt and licked the end, poking his index finger into a little pocket and dabbing at the bloodied ankle. She huffed at every dab, but stayed brave as Francis cleaned the torn wounds and then wrapped it with more strips from his shirt. He had a nice mid-drift now, but he hardly had time to worry about his looks. He stood and looked around the clearing, looking for suitable and non-poisonous plants for the unicorn to eat. They all looked suspicious to him.

He glanced over at the unicorn and sighed, "Can you get up, _fille_?" he asked.

She tried standing on her own, but struggled greatly. He sighed and went to her again, sitting on one knee and placing his right shoulder and arm under her front legs, his face placed delicately into her left shoulder. He tried with what strength he had to push her up, but, in the end, her ankle twisted under her and both crashed to the ground, the unicorn letting out a deathly whinny, and Francis himself screaming like a girl. After a few moments of getting over his shock, he got up and sat, sighing lightly.

The horse looked at him from the corner of her blue-violet eyes, a glare present in them. She seemed to be telling him 'Nice going, genius…'

He sighed again and got up, "Then you won't run away. I'm going to get better medical help and some food for you…" he told her, and started walking off.

He trusted her not to run. What with her twisted and lacerated ankle, she couldn't move, and she was weak with fear. She should stay for a few hours. Francis had just enough time to get to his house, grab his med kit and some apples and hay, throw them on a wagon and head back to the unicorn's clearing.

_How do you know that wasn't part of your water-deprived brain?_ Francis suddenly thought. He thought back to the creature's touch. It seemed real enough, and the sounds from her mouth had temporarily deafened him. And he was bruised and dusty from the delicate thing falling on him… Besides, Francis had Celtic blood running through him, like England. He had seen little fairies in the woods when they were children, and so he wasn't entirely skeptic about there being fairies and unicorns running around… (it was just fun to tease his _Angleterre_ about it). The poor girl… she must have been spooked and ran into the foothills, getting caught in the thorn bush because she wasn't looking…

Francis returned, in a fresh shirt, to the clearing. The winged unicorn looked up from her extremely relaxed lying down position. It was somewhat odd for him to be returning to help a winged unicorn that had landed in his country. Perhaps she was on her way to England's domain? After all, _he_ was more likely to keep one of these… creatures. But, Francis was the next best thing to be taken care of by in this form.

He pulled the wagon up close to the unicorn and placed some hay and an apple near her mouth. She sniffed at them both, and then deemed them both edible, snapping her mouth shut around the apple and eating it whole. Then she began chewing on the hay in an almost thoughtful manner as Francis took out his medical kit and began working on actually wrapping the leg up right. He stared at the make-shift bandages he had used and sighed. The unicorn nickered lightly and folded herself over to nuzzle Francis's shoulder. He patted her nose delicately.

"You were as scared as I was worried, huh? What scared you, _ma petite fille_?" he asked, his voice lowered.

The unicorn's ears twitched forward and she breathed out huffily. For some odd reason, this one reminded him of a female, animal form of his _Angleterre_, and it made him chuckle lightly. She was startled by the noise, as she probably had never heard someone laugh before, but saw that neither she nor Francis was in immediate danger. She then crooked her head to one side as Francis finished laughing.

"_Excusez-moi, ma beauté…_ I was not laughing at you. You… just remind me of someone…" he said.

And then he remembered his and England's anniversary in _a week_. "_Merde!_" he hissed, and the unicorn was once again confused.

Francis closed the medical kit and went to stand. The unicorn was startled and whinnied loudly in protest: she was rather used to the man by now. Francis paused at the wagon and saw, in the corner of his eye, that she was struggling the stand, "I… I'm sorry, _corp cèleste…_ This person and I have been at peace for a very long time, and I just want to make the commemoration day special this time…" he said, "I just need to think about what I can do…" he mused. Then he turned back to the unicorn and smiled reassuringly, "I'll be back tomorrow morning with food and to check on you… you'll be here, I hope?"

The winged creature seemed to nod, and Francis was at once at peace with himself. As long as he had something to care for, this week leading up to his anniversary wouldn't be as painful as it had been becoming.

When Francis returned to the clearing the next morning, he still had the wagon present, filled with hay and apples, and his medical kit. He put the wagon in front of the unicorn and allowed her to eat off of it while he checked her ankle. It was completely healed. Francis was surprised, but, then again, this was a flying unicorn, and she probably healed faster than any human could.

He took off the bandages and looked at her, "So… why didn't you just fly away, _ma petite fille_?" he asked.

She nuzzled his shoulder and he was forced to pat her nose. Not that he minded. He was now rather fond of the girl, and he was actually glad she had decided to stay. She then stared at him with her intense blue-violet eyes, and then she softly tapped his chest with her nose. He was startled at the action, but then he seemed to get it.

"No… I haven't been able to think of anything special for _mon Angleterre_," he said.

She crooked her head to the side, as if questioning the male into telling the story of himself and this… _Angleterre_. "It's a long story…" Francis replied.

And the winged unicorn lay down suddenly, unearthing some dust. Francis was slightly surprised, but he guessed the unicorn had some time, so he sat down as well. He thought for a good moment before he began his story. About how he and England had met and become… well… somewhat friendly with each other. He even let slip about the young Nations' "faery hunts," and all the tall tales his _Angleterre_ believed. And then he told the unicorn about when they weren't friends anymore as England grew into a belligerent teenager. Then about how England and France were constantly fighting. And then… and then about the _Entente Cordiale_. After that, they seemed to always fight still, but it wasn't in an all out war. Though… there was that one time in World War II, but Francis's brushed that story off as soon as it was finished. What the unicorn was drawn to, though, was how passionate the Frenchman seemed to be about his life with this England fellow. They had so many bad times and yet… and yet he still wanted to make this year special.

The unicorn noticed that the Frenchman had finished and… were those tears in his eyes? Oh, yes, yes they were. It made the winged creature cry a little, as well. She put her wing over Francis and pulled him in to her body. He gasped lightly, but put his hands around her neck, nuzzling his nose into her soft shoulder.

"Thanks for listening to me, _C__è__lestine_," he said, giving the unicorn a name.

At once, the mare got an idea and nickered, tugging at Francis's shirt lightly with her teeth. He stood, and she stood as well. Then she stretched out her front legs and looked at Francis expectantly. Francis blinked, "It's been a while since I rode bare-back…" he said, shakily grasping her withers.

She shook her head simply and whinnied for him to get a move on. He sighed and hoisted himself on her back. She then came to full height, and took off in a run. It really had been a while for Francis. He had done it a lot in his youth, but soon he had become a refined gentlemen, and saddles had been the only way to go. As soon as the unicorn was going fast enough, she jumped into the air and beat her powerful wings until she was above the ground at an angle, lifting them higher and higher into the air.

Francis had been holding his breath for a good minute as they leveled, touching the white whisps of spring-time clouds. He breathed a sigh of joy and adrenaline. "So… this is how to fly without an aeroplane," he said, smiling up at the blue sky. The unicorn simply nickered in response. He came down close to her ear and whispered, "I think the next time we do this, Cèlestine, it's with a saddle and bridle… what do you say?" he asked, "Do I need a golden bridle and a virgin to capture you, or will you come willingly?" he teased.

She glared at him though the corner of her beautiful eyes and circled, landing back on her feet in the clearing where the Frenchman and the unicorn had met. Francis smiled, "Then let's go… you'll feel safer in Brittany…" he said, and made a motion for Cèlestine to follow. She did.

Brittany was beautiful this time of the year. England even said that it had been his favorite place to visit, especially because of its Celtic background. Suffice to say, a magical creature like Cèlestine would feel right at home here. Francis moved himself to his house near Brest and took it to himself to get Cèleste used to a saddle and bridle (turns out he didn't need to call his _cher_ Northern Italy over after all… not that the Nation was a virgin anymore…). She seemed to be a good sport about her rider's comfort, and took to her restraints quite well. Francis managed to fit her with a special saddle and bridle that went around her wings and horn.

Five days had passed, though, and it was the day before his anniversary. While he enjoyed spending so much time with his flying unicorn, Francis wasn't sure how the time spent would help with the anniversary. It seemed stupid and silly. But… he kept going up to their new clearing and riding Cèlestine around Brittany and Normandy, and sometimes they would fly over Paris. The view of his precious city was better on a flying unicorn than from Sacre Coeur or even from the top of the Eiffel Tower.

But now? He didn't know what to do. There was nothing England hadn't seen or done with Francis that would be special. Except… Francis looked down at Cèlestine, and then at the view of the forests and clearing of magical Brittany and was struck with an idea. Once they had touched down in Cèlestine's new home, he jumped off her back and went to unsaddle her. Once the heavy saddle was off, he put his forehead to hers gently and whispered, "You don't mind having another passenger on your back, do you, _ma belle fille_?" he asked.

This was what the flying unicorn had in mind herself. She flapped her wings lightly, whinnying as she did so. The language (or lack-there-of) barrier between them had gone far enough. But she allowed the Frenchman to have his fun that it had been his idea. Francis was her best friend, after all, and she was doing this mostly for him, anyway. She nodded her head, and Francis patted her nose.

"Good… I think we'll be taking an extended flight to London and around the south of England tomorrow… what do you say?" Francis asked, hefting the saddle to a log he had been using to store the accessories he would need to ride the flying unicorn.

Cèlestine nickered an affirmative lightly as she followed France under some pine trees. It was looking like rain, and if she was going on this extended trip, she might as well rest herself until the morning, when Francis would no doubt fetch her. He kissed her nose before making his way back to his home outside of Brest, smiling lightly as he walked, glad that he had _finally_ figured something out for his anniversary.

England had been sleeping peacefully. He knew what day it was, but he wasn't sweating over it. How could he be so heartless over the matter? Well… that's what France would say about it. But Arthur had everything covered. It was France's turn to come over for their anniversary, and England had dinner covered. How cute was a trip to a small café for your anniversary? Besides, it was tucked away, away from any crowds. It should be special… France was useless for surprising England, so Arthur turned the tables and would surprise Francis. The plan was foolproof.

Except when he heard the knocking on his door. "Bloody hell…" Arthur murmured as he opened his eyes. It was only eleven! He sighed and put his robe on, tying it lazily before he opened his front door. "What the bloody hell is—"

Then he saw Francis on his porch. He was wearing his signature blouse-looking shirt and black pants. He was wearing a black rain-jacket over the ensemble, and an adorable grin on his pale face. "Come on, _Angleterre_," he said, "you're not even dressed yet?"

"What's this, Francis? I thought you would have forgotten all about today until… well… this afternoon, at least…" England replied.

"Well… get dressed, we're going for a ride."

"Coming from you, I would think you would _want_ me in just my robe…" Arthur replied, a slight smirk on his face.

"Maybe later tonight, Arthur. I really mean we're going for a ride. And there's someone I want you to meet, so at least wear a nice shirt," Francis replied, returning the smirk.

About a half an hour of waiting in England's parlor later, Arthur came down the stairs, properly dressed in his signature button-down long-sleeved shirt and khakis, along with his equally signature sweater vest and tie. Francis smiled and stood, taking Arthur's hand gently, "Shall we, _mon cher_?" he asked.

Arthur couldn't help but blush, "Uhh… yes."

Francis grabbed a coat for England and they walked outside into the cool April air (it looked like rain). Cèlestine immediately looked up at them and England raised his caterpillar-like eyebrows. At first he thought it was one of his invisible friends, but when he saw that Francis was making his way toward the saddled beauty, he knew it was… Francis's?

"Who… how… what the bloody hell!?" England finally blurted as Francis and the unicorn shared a brief moment.

Francis chuckled, "This is Cèlestine. I rescued her from a thorn bush in the Alps, and she helped me figure out something nice for us to do on our anniversary…"

"You… can see her?" England asked.

_Oh no_. Centuries of teasing England had made him bitter about it. Francis sighed, "Yes. Blame my Celtic roots, _mon Angleterre_," he replied calmly.

"So… all that teasing when we were younger… that was just—" Francis cut the Englishman off by kissing him.

"_S'il te plait, mon cher_, not on our anniversary," Francis said when he pulled away.

England was still too shocked to answer. So Francis beckoned him to the horse and took his hand, placing it on Cèlestine's withers before pushing him up on the front of the saddle and getting up behind him. England blushed lightly as Francis took up the reins on either side of the Englishman and clicked his tongue, making the winged unicorn move forward at a slow walk. Once they got to a good spot, the mare broke out into a fast trot, and then a gallop, and then jumped up into the air, beating her powerful wings. England leaned forward and put his arms around the unicorn's neck, feeling the wind in his face. Francis smiled down at him and leveled them as soon as they were high enough over the city. He flicked England's side softly and Arthur looked up from Cèlestine's white mane. He immediately saw the graying clouds over them and looked down at the city.

"Oh… Oh my…" he said, breathing in as he noticed how pretty his city looked from up there. "If you start singing "A Whole New World_"_ from _Aladdin_, I will kill you," Arthur warned.

"I wouldn't even _think_ of such a thing, _mon coeur_," Francis replied, smirking.

They circled London for a few kilometers, and then moved on to the south of England, heading as near to Stonehenge as they could. England was at the edge of his seat as he noticed the rock formation below. His green eyes seemed to sparkle as he glanced down at the legendary formation, this time from a bird's eye view.

After circling it, Francis was about to turn them back home when Arthur stopped him with his left hand on Francis's corresponding one: "Take me to Paris, Francis," he whispered, putting pressure on Francis's hand and making Cèlestine turn left, toward Normandy.

Francis smiled as the unicorn under him whinnied, "It's all right, Cèleste… we're going over to Paris real quick…" he said to her.

She nickered as if she was mumbling (or rather, swearing under her breath) and flew over the coast of England and over the English Channel. England nodded, "Yes, I know he can be a… oh my, yes. He can be an ass sometimes…" he said, looking back at the Frenchman.

Francis feigned indignation, "I forgot you can converse with them better than I can…" he said, sniffing lightly, "And I am not an ass, young lady," he cooed.

Cèlestine merely nickered and pulled her head forward, making them come down under the clouds as they flew over the lights of Le Havre. Francis smiled at his little port town and turned them in the direction of his capitol.

They flew over the city, looking down at the sunlit rooftops of Paris's apartment buildings. The Eiffel Tower shined, and shed light on many more monuments Francis's city was known for. England smiled down at Sacre Coeur and the Louvre, and Francis couldn't help but see England smiling and smile himself. Today was just getting to be too perfect. Cèlestine nickered as she saw her passengers smiling and flew out of city limits and back North, heading over Normandy and going left over Brittany. Francis let the winged girl take the lead on where they went next, as he was positive Cèlestine wouldn't take them anywhere dangerous.

The clouds darkened overhead as Cèlestine touched down near a different clearing from her and Francis's meeting place, up on a hill in a thick cove of trees. She shook out her aching wings and Francis jumped down, putting his hand out to Arthur as a gentlemen would offer his hand to a lady at a grand ball. England blushed lightly and took his hand, sliding gracefully out of the saddle and on to the green grass below them. Cèlestine nickered and looked off thoughtfully into the distance, just as what looked like other creatures like herself came out of the woods over where she was looking. She looked back at Francis, and he looked at the herd that was drawing nearer to them. The leader sniffed at her, and she sniffed back, glancing back at Francis again.

He smiled at her and began to unfasten her saddle and bridle. Once they were off, he motioned for her to go with the others for a moment. She seemed to nod and stepped closer to the herd. They nickered and whinnied, still studying her and sniffing. Cèlestine nickered and whinnied in response, and soon, the others allowed her to visit with them down in the valley.

England and France watched. Francis put down the leather saddle and bridle on a fallen tree and sat next to them, beckoning Arthur to sit with him and watch the creatures. He caught Cèlestine's eye and she seemed to wink at him, her eye sparkling despite the clouds over them. Francis suddenly heard a solo singing voice. No words came, but to Francis's ear, it sounded like the greatest violin, playing a beautiful waltz. Others soon followed, adding other string instruments to the disembodied string orchestra. The unicorns were singing for them. Singing for Francis and Arthur. It was slow and smooth, and at once, Francis rose, putting his hand out to Arthur once again, but this time, it was for a dance.

Arthur had just been listening as the singing began, and as he watched his partner get up, he was equally surprised when Francis seemed to know what was going on. This all seemed… so impromptu. And yet it was perfect. Arthur took Francis's offered hand almost shyly and stood, allowing the other Nation to pull him in close. He hardly remembered how to waltz, but, in the end, he let the winged unicorn singing put him into a trance. It was only him and Francis after that, and a string orchestra with no instruments, no bodies to twist the sound with… _This is peace. This is what I've wanted with Francis…_

And thus, they danced. Seemingly alone in that cove of trees, smelling the pre-rainfall, and being guided by a herd of winged unicorns, singing a grand chorus. It was better than dancing in a ballroom, lit only by candles. Francis hadn't been so happy in his entire life. And Arthur couldn't say if he had ever felt like that in his own lifetime.

"Arthur…?"

"Hmm… What is it, Francis?"

"_Je… Je t'aime._"

"_Je… je t'aime, aussi…_"

It was night when the two Nations and the winged unicorn returned to Arthur's house in London. Arthur still had his half of the anniversary, so they had left the forests of Brittany and Cèlestine's new friends, and had made their way across the English Channel again. Before going inside the house, England put his head to Cèlestine's (under her glorious horn) and said, "Thanks, Cèlestine…"

Francis took the Englishman's hand and he waved lightly before being gently pulled into the house. Francis stepped out on the stoop. He patted the unicorn in between the ears and smiled. "Thanks so much, _ma belle fille_…" he said, kissing her nose lightly. She nickered and nudged him affectionately in the direction of the door.

"Why don't you get home to Brittany. Just hang tight with the saddle on tonight, and then come back in the afternoon tomorrow, okay?" Francis asked.

Cèlestine nodded and pushed him towards the door again. He smiled at her one last time before she took off into the night.

"Are you coming, Francis? I have plans for us to eat at a café, and then you hinted at another ride tonight," England said, coming up from behind Francis as he watched the winged unicorn fly away. He put his arms around the Frenchman's waist and pulled him into the foyer. He then came to Francis's front and closed the door by hooking it with his foot and pulling it shut.

Francis's eyebrow shot up and down quickly and another smirk found its way on his features, "Or we could skip the dinner and just for that ride, _cheri…_" he purred.

Arthur shook his head, "I'd run out of fuel too quickly. Let's go eat."

"_Ouais, ouais…_" Francis replied, rolling his eyes lightly, "Then let's go…"

The rest of the evening went quite well. Thanks to Francis's confession about seeing the fairies, they spent a few minutes saying hello to all of England's friends before they headed out to the out-of-the-way café England had decided they should eat at. The food was as good as it would get in England, and so Francis was satisfied. But he was most satisfied when the dinner was done, and it was time for that different kind of ride both Nations had been hinting at…

Suffice to say, it was one of the best anniversaries either one had had in a long time. All thanks to a winged unicorn named Cèlestine.

Translations:

_Oh la la, ma ch__è__re pouline_ – "Oh no, my dear filly" (as in a baby female horse?)

_Chut! Chut, ma chère fille! –_ "Shh! Shh, my dear girl!"

_Ma petite fille_ – "My little girl"

_Ma beaut__é_ – "My beauty"

_Corp cèleste_ – "Celestial being"

_Mon Angleterre _– "My England"

_S'il te plait_ – "Please (for people you are comfortable with i.e your friends)

_Mon coeur _– "My heart"

_Ma belle fille_ – "My beautiful girl"

_Ouais_ – "Yeah"

_Merde_ – "Shit"

_Je t'aime _– "I love you." (_Aussi_ means "also" or "too.")

_-dead-_

_Happy anniversary to our little Frenchie and... English... guy..._

_IGNORE ME!_

_Adieu~  
_


	4. Your Hands Are Cold

**NAME**: Your Hands Are Cold

**RATING**: PG-13

**WARNINGS**: femmslash, Iggy's mouth, FrUK fluff, feminine forms, France as the uke… again, Shakespeare references, some French

**CHARACTERS/PAIRINGS**: femme!England/femme!France ;; hints at femme!England/America

**SUMMARY**: England is tired of France running. So she shows up at her house uninvited. Or so it may seem. Kind of AU…

**NOTES**: I'm totally making up the names of France and UK's femme forms here. Sorry.

Ariana didn't know why she was tired of her French-girl running. You would think she would relish the time away from the blue-eyed nation. But it just wasn't so…

Green eyes looked out of her kitchen window into the misty morning. She didn't know what she was looking for the in the fog. Perhaps her Frenchie's smiling face would part the miserable grey that descended on her fair city of London. Or maybe England was plotting something. She looked at the clock on the wall, ticking its life away, it seemed, and sighed. Then she took up a brown suitcase and put her teacup in the sink. It was time to chase down France…

Francine just wanted to run. It wasn't like her to want to run this much, but the way Ariana… no. Ariana wasn't the one to blame. Though Francine got lost in those green eyes, and fell in love ten times over with the Englishwoman's bespectacled face and wonderful accent… it just wasn't right. Francine was a Frenchwoman, born and bred to hate anyone English. Anyone like Ariana.

France buried her head into the pillow she had been moping on and shut her eyes against the sights, sounds, and feelings that Ariana always brought: the smell of earl grey tea and… roses. England's national flower was the rose, unlike what others thought. Francine's flower was an iris, though… she loved roses a little more. And lilies. Ariana smelled… magical. She even looked magical… like something straight out of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. She was Titania to Francine's lowly Nick Bottom. Francine was Helena, chasing Ariana's Demetrius, who was in love with... America's Hermia, perhaps.

_But, in the end? Didn't Helena and Demetrius marry?_ Too hopeful a thought. Ariana was in love with another, perhaps. That was why she was so cold to Francine's advances. Francine shuddered and opened her eyes. All this thought about what seemed like one-sided love was making her sick. She had to stop.

She rose out of the bed, wondering where her perseverance had gone. She wouldn't just give up easily on this sort of matter. She was considered 'easy' by the other Europeans, also 'head-strong' to them when it came to getting into others' pants. But not anymore; she was in love, so she had stopped all advances on the others in Europe and around the world, too.

Francine looked over at the shutters on the window and opened them, thankful she was wearing a nightgown this time. She usually wore nothing, and looking out the window was usually quite embarrassing nowadays. Even if it was one-sided, she was still in love and still 'saving' herself for that day when…

…_when what, Francine?_ She asked herself, propping the heel of her hand on her face as she put her elbow on the sill to look out. She noticed the bandages on her hands, but didn't think anything of it. She had been merely making her house more spring-like and… Francine then noticed her rather large rose bush was almost in full bloom, nearly blocking her view of the Eiffel Tower. She sighed lightly at the sight of her city surrounded by roses, but the image wouldn't last. The doorbell was ringing.

Francine had the decency to grab a robe on her way out of her room: one that was a lovely pale yellow with real-looking red roses embroidered on it. A gift from Spain when he and her were on good terms, actually. A memory now. Francine made her way down the stairs to the front door.

But upon opening it, she was surprised at who was calling on her.

"Morning, Francine. Hope I didn't wake you," Ariana said with a little smirk on her face. Francine gulped as she watched the Englishwoman looked her up and down and then as she chuckled when Francine closed the edges of her robe and crossed her arms over her chest. "Why so shy, Franny? You're usually… what do they call it now… easy…"

Was the Englishwoman mocking her now? Did she somehow know that she had zoomed in on just loving Ariana and now was mocking her for it? Ariana was in love with Alfred! Or Antonio… Ariana couldn't… She just wasn't…

"What are you doing here, Ariana?" Francine asked, blocking the doorway with her body. She saw the bags in Ariana's pale hands and saw that the bus was already pulling away from the curb back into the street.

"I came to see you. Is that a crime now? Come on, we're not in a war. Be civil…" Ariana said, dropping her bags on 'war' and gripping Francine's chin lightly on 'civil.' Francine gasped lightly, her mouth parting slightly as Ariana ran her thumb under Francine's lips.

She finally wrenched her face away from the dangerous touch and turned her body from Ariana's. Ariana blinked. Her playful strategy wasn't working. The Englishwoman suddenly turned shy and sighed, her breath turning to icicles in the cold shadow of Francine's house. For a spring day, it sure was _cold_ that morning. "I'm sorry. You can act towards me however you wish."

There was a tight silence, and during it, Francine looked at Ariana through thick eyelashes and saw that the other girl was shaking slightly. Ariana caught her staring and crossed her arms over her chest. She was cold and… this visit just wasn't working right. "… If you must know, I _did_ come to see you. And the reason why isn't to… mock you or fight you or anything. I came here out of… a deep… love I have for you. I… I love you, Francine…" Ariana finally said, her voice catching in her throat a couple of times. She wasn't used to telling people her feelings. Especially her feelings for _France_ of all people.

Francine was shocked for a brief minute before she turned away quickly, her cheeks flushing an unflattering shade of red. She glanced down at a blooming lily that was off her porch a little ways. Ariana looked up from the interesting knot of wood on Francine's smooth porch and almost squealed at how cute the Frenchwoman looked. But that would not be proper for an English lady, so she refrained from doing so.

Francine then looked behind her at a low table in her living room. Inside, her feelings for the Englishwoman were billowing up again, and she longed to just jump into the British lady's arms. But she knew Ariana would never allow it to happen, being the rigid sort she was. So Francine looked for something to give to the other woman, anything that could express her love. She found it on the low table in front of the couch: a single red rose. She plucked it from it's vase and held it up to Ariana, who was now just staring at her.

"Take it, Ariana…" Francine replied carefully.

Ariana took the slender stem in her hands, noticing that the thorns had been carefully cut off. She held on to Francine's hands as she looked over them. There were fresh bandages over them, where bleeding had happened when she had carved off those thorns, no doubt. Francine watched Ariana's eyes dart over her hands and decided to speak first, "Your hands are cold…" she said sweetly, taking up the other woman's other hand and in attempt to warm them.

"Maybe its because you're treating me so coldly," Ariana replied, a slight growl in the back of her throat.

Francine laughed, but there was a catch in the back of her throat. Ariana noticed that her love interest's eyes were glassy. She looked like she was about to cry. "That's because… I thought you loved someone else all this time… and… and…"

Ariana didn't want Francine to cry more than she didn't want to show her affection for the other woman. Ariana wrapped her arms around the Frenchwoman and pulled her close, "That was a stupid thought."

"How I was supposed to know? You yourself have been cold to _me_. Maybe it was just pay back…" Francine replied.

"I'm sorry. I was just… being myself, I guess. We've had… such a tumultuous past together and I thought… maybe you hated me."

"Well I don't. I… _Je te… Je t'aime_, Ariana." Francine replied quietly.

Ariana pulled away from Francine to see her crying. There were only tears falling down her cheeks. Ariana used her thumb to try and dry France's tears away, but than only made the Frenchwoman cry harder. Ariana wasn't sure what to do, as she hardly showed her emotions in public. Finally the blonde woman looked up at Ariana and went up on tiptoe, hissing the green-eyed Nation's lips softly before coming back down on her heels and, still clutching Ariana's hand, plucked up one of the Englishwoman's bags and lead Ariana inside.

_-is dead- Okay... this took longer than it should have, and now I would like to recuperate. _

_Hetalia yuri is so awesome..._


End file.
